first night.
it was hir first night as a boy
stiff new leather shoes creaked
suit just out of the bag
soft wool with shiny liner
tie knot that ze’d practiced so hard
now crafted on fine silk
starched collar stood tall
grandpa’s cuff links shiny in ze’s cuffs
hir steps changed gained confidence
shoulders grew straighter
walked into a lesbian bar to find a woman
woman’s features in disguise
curves bound into flatness
the lines of gender redefined
invited by an older woman to slip in early on a vip pass
ze sipped scotch on the rocks
tried to escape the new benefactor
find hir type without being sure of specifics
searched for a vague idea
that whispered foreign tongues in bed
dark shadows and curves
soft hands not found there
because you can’t make wives from american women
they are crazy and fun for a night
but not the kind that ze runs to
and ze can’t hide from the world in their arms
they are too wild to feel safe
so ze keeps on searching
love affair with the iron.
his outfit had a love affair with the iron
perfect starched collar
knife-edged creased pants
full moon reflected in the spit shined shoes
and the rain puddles alike
cashmere soft with mist
whistling as shoes clicked down the slick pavement
cashmere in a puddle on the floor
and a sock sticking out from under the bed
hair sticking out in every direction
forehead beaded with sweat
concentrating so hard
white wife beater stained with sweat
sensitive stomach exposed
i love that when i unwrap you
i see what nobody else sees
literally
i slip the sports bra over your head
a size too tight
so that it flattens your already tiny chest
and the dusky pebbles of your nipples
pero no me importa
el cuerpo es tuyo y para mi es hermoso
indiferente de tu género
¡ay! me encanta pero se me perdió
tu voz cuando me preguntas “¿que piensas?”
porque yo
yo no puedo pensar cuando estoy contigo
madame fortune teller.
i’m next door to the oldest 18 and over club in weho
when they get there early
they stop at starbucks to caffeinate then come to see me
i’ve sat here for many years
in the bright color-blind mumu everyone expects
tired old queen in worn out drag
madame fortune teller advising the lost boys
my smudged crystal ball
has seen waterfalls of tears
cascade down young dimpled cheeks
the boys that file past have aged
replaced by fresh faces
sometimes i see them in the early morning
huddled in my doorway next to the payphone
still too drunk to drive when i get to work
when i still look like a worn out old man
with a steaming cup of coffee
when i still have to pop my pills
although they are fewer
now that azt has gone out of style
i survived the first time we had to fight
the virus that threatened to wipe us out
and now i see naïve boys
doomed to repeat our stupid mistakes
asking when they will find true love
i sigh and push the bowl of condoms toward them
start to respect youself sugar
learn who you are
and then start looking
boy in the mirror.
i stare in the mirror don’t know the person looking back at me
the boy in the mirror is slight
with small shoulders and a hairless face
but its still a him i expect to see a girl
the first day of kindergarten
the boys and girl stood in two lines
i stood with my new friend who wore sparkle nail polish
after that the teacher made me sit in the corner and play with trucks
in sixth grade i cried after my best friend’s mom explained
why i couldn’t go to the all girls sleep over party
she said that people were a little closed minded
and would talk
my dad took off his belt
the first time he saw me put on my mom’s lipstick
he told me he wouldn’t have a sissy faggot for a son
he hit me till there was blood on my back i still have the scars
at night in my dreams i am her beautiful
my hair is long and my hands soft graceful poised
the ugly duckling transitioned into a swan i turn heads
draw sighs with latina curves that make music videos famous
i can only stall so long my boyfriend wants to sleep with me
he’s waited almost three months now
he’s starting to suspect something isn’t quite right
even if he’s a little simple but really what is the t
the pills don’t work as well shots scare me
surgery is expensive some days i can’t even afford to eat
i can get away with wearing a dress
as long as its dark outside nobody can clock me
survived by the mountains.
i grew up near mountains
and i can see mountains from outside the clubs
as i wait for the bus on my way to work
it was always comforting
knowing there was something bigger than me
here in the city there are plenty of things bigger than me
looming in my peripheral vision
people make jokes about corn fed blue eyed midwestern blonds
i ignore them because i am from the north
where there are sunsets with no haze
no out gay people in my tiny town
and no talk of the threat of disease
i came out west to come out
not just to get out
the sun surf sand have been good to me
people whisper under their breath about nordic gods
all i feel is hardened like i have aged decades
from worrying about rent and the threat of aids
everything here is larger than life
the scene the city the stars
i like to know the mountains are bigger
they’ve been here a long time
and even after i am gone
they will survive
unidentified white male early twenties
died of apparent drug overdose
traces of rohypnol cocaine and arsenic were found in his blood
evidence of recent sexual activity but no evidence of assault
however this may be attributed to the drugs found in his system
he is survived by the mountains
"Jess Provencio lives in Los Angeles with her wife, four cats, three tarantulas, and fish. She is a supervisor at a coffee shop and a substitute English teacher. Her goal is to get tattoos in as many languages as possible..."
15 July 2011
'5 Writing Pieces' by Kerryn Tredrea.
this night is full of rogue stars and wicked surprises.
she met him at the entrance
of the wilderness
invested him
with memories
and ghosts,
thought she knew the ropes
but missed the
blatantly obvious.
he found her by the forest,
wild and feral
invested her
with red cordial
and earthy expectations
but didn’t look close
enough to read
between the lines.
their similarities drew
them together
and their differences,
their differences
ripped strips
off both their egos.
he was another planet
and she was too grounded
to follow her there
any this night may be full
of rogue stars and wicked surprises
but somewhere they were lost
behind the black clouds
and predictions of thunder.
awake at 3 a.m.
awake at 3 a.m.
mainlining the soft
porn content of the
ab swing commercial.
awake at 3 a.m.
crawling into the refuge
of the the unholy trinity,
coffee, cones and codeine.
awake at 3 a.m.
there are dangers
in this forest.
reaching down the throat
of my dreams i find that
patience is not a virtue
but a psychotic vortex
where there is no satisfaction.
i sift through the details
of previous conversations
looking for clues,
but the words fall too quickly
and the meaning is lost.
so all i’m left with
is this gritty feeling.
awake at 3 a.m.
no drunken upside.
unsympathetic to death even when he’s shivering in my bed i now suffer the complex web of guilt and longing that drape like glue through my chest cavity, not in a good way.
then telling the coroner she was dealing with a charismatic corpse seems to relax the situation and build a rapport.
but it’s too early to remember you fondly.
i view your shell still as a person because that’s the way i have to deal with it until the tattoo on your chest confirms the worst with his stillness.
i suffer a series of flashbacks that don’t so much remind me of you as take me away to a desolate neverland, a dark cave of dank maybes.
and if i have to write another shitty love pome to tell you how i really feel, don’t expect a happy ending when the best sex we had was the night heath ledger died.
so no matter how much i drink there is no drunken upside and i want to remember you fondly because you had so much potential, but that was yesterday, that was before the longest night, before you delivered the final sucker punch.
surrender.
the boys who know i’m touched already don’t touch me and the others bombard with an irrelevant litany that only goes to reinforcing my low self esteem.
but this is not a conversation with myself.
it is an invitation to elsewhere, an unsteady stumble of hyperbole before we call in the editors. it is a fight for art and freedom, a saying no to the ordinary to find the voice that is truly unique.
there may be a superhero
there could be some rain,
there will be a battle
so there’s gunna be some pain.
the world is darker than any of us can imagine and brighter than i give it credit for so surely there must be some middle ground. leonard cohen says you find it 1000 kisses deep, but i say anticipation’s a bitch and i just cant do it anymore.
look for the ideas that are edgy, frenetic, keen to be born. feel as they churn and kick in your head and your gut then take it to the mat as you wrestle with the pedestrian to wrangle your thoughts to the page.
don’t throw down words like talking, speak a deeper meaning. discover the subtext in a personal moment exposed, a dry creek bed or something taken. embrace the bastard child inside to tell a second story that comes from a place that’s forceful, not forced, felt and not found.
then your words will demand a performance that is more than a carefully done flower arrangement or a mediocre montage in a midday movie. they will be a showcase of triumph over adversity, a fierce unfolding with the pride of a quiet roar. this is not an occasion for self congratulation.
i know i need some outside help but writing’s an internal struggle that you win when you surrender, surrender to the coffee splats and tear stains on the page, surrender to the adrenalin that gives your words their power, surrender to the moment when time stops –
and the pen keeps moving.
so fly, soar, less is more but travel it all. step sideways to be the seconds before the parachute opens, the spark that connects the synapses, the wave that washes us all away.
the boys who know i’m touched already don’t touch me, but this is not a conversation with myself.
compliments.
his compliments were addictive.
she tried to pack them into boxes
with her other emotional baggage
but they came too fast,
too thick.
they began to wash up her body,
to lap at places forgotten
or undiscovered,
turning the tide on the fear
that held her tight
to make it exciting.
and when she tried to fight it,
to hold her ghosts close
(and her mind closer)
he pulled her into the open,
out of the tower and into the light
and he may not be the right knight
but at least for one night
she could see herself
though his eyes.
"Kerryn Tredrea is based in adelaide, australia, writing pomes, running gigs, touring towns & making culture in her own sweet way since 1999. she is very proud to be co editor at Paroxysm Press, one of australia's foremost independent publishers..."
she met him at the entrance
of the wilderness
invested him
with memories
and ghosts,
thought she knew the ropes
but missed the
blatantly obvious.
he found her by the forest,
wild and feral
invested her
with red cordial
and earthy expectations
but didn’t look close
enough to read
between the lines.
their similarities drew
them together
and their differences,
their differences
ripped strips
off both their egos.
he was another planet
and she was too grounded
to follow her there
any this night may be full
of rogue stars and wicked surprises
but somewhere they were lost
behind the black clouds
and predictions of thunder.
awake at 3 a.m.
awake at 3 a.m.
mainlining the soft
porn content of the
ab swing commercial.
awake at 3 a.m.
crawling into the refuge
of the the unholy trinity,
coffee, cones and codeine.
awake at 3 a.m.
there are dangers
in this forest.
reaching down the throat
of my dreams i find that
patience is not a virtue
but a psychotic vortex
where there is no satisfaction.
i sift through the details
of previous conversations
looking for clues,
but the words fall too quickly
and the meaning is lost.
so all i’m left with
is this gritty feeling.
awake at 3 a.m.
no drunken upside.
unsympathetic to death even when he’s shivering in my bed i now suffer the complex web of guilt and longing that drape like glue through my chest cavity, not in a good way.
then telling the coroner she was dealing with a charismatic corpse seems to relax the situation and build a rapport.
but it’s too early to remember you fondly.
i view your shell still as a person because that’s the way i have to deal with it until the tattoo on your chest confirms the worst with his stillness.
i suffer a series of flashbacks that don’t so much remind me of you as take me away to a desolate neverland, a dark cave of dank maybes.
and if i have to write another shitty love pome to tell you how i really feel, don’t expect a happy ending when the best sex we had was the night heath ledger died.
so no matter how much i drink there is no drunken upside and i want to remember you fondly because you had so much potential, but that was yesterday, that was before the longest night, before you delivered the final sucker punch.
surrender.
the boys who know i’m touched already don’t touch me and the others bombard with an irrelevant litany that only goes to reinforcing my low self esteem.
but this is not a conversation with myself.
it is an invitation to elsewhere, an unsteady stumble of hyperbole before we call in the editors. it is a fight for art and freedom, a saying no to the ordinary to find the voice that is truly unique.
there may be a superhero
there could be some rain,
there will be a battle
so there’s gunna be some pain.
the world is darker than any of us can imagine and brighter than i give it credit for so surely there must be some middle ground. leonard cohen says you find it 1000 kisses deep, but i say anticipation’s a bitch and i just cant do it anymore.
look for the ideas that are edgy, frenetic, keen to be born. feel as they churn and kick in your head and your gut then take it to the mat as you wrestle with the pedestrian to wrangle your thoughts to the page.
don’t throw down words like talking, speak a deeper meaning. discover the subtext in a personal moment exposed, a dry creek bed or something taken. embrace the bastard child inside to tell a second story that comes from a place that’s forceful, not forced, felt and not found.
then your words will demand a performance that is more than a carefully done flower arrangement or a mediocre montage in a midday movie. they will be a showcase of triumph over adversity, a fierce unfolding with the pride of a quiet roar. this is not an occasion for self congratulation.
i know i need some outside help but writing’s an internal struggle that you win when you surrender, surrender to the coffee splats and tear stains on the page, surrender to the adrenalin that gives your words their power, surrender to the moment when time stops –
and the pen keeps moving.
so fly, soar, less is more but travel it all. step sideways to be the seconds before the parachute opens, the spark that connects the synapses, the wave that washes us all away.
the boys who know i’m touched already don’t touch me, but this is not a conversation with myself.
compliments.
his compliments were addictive.
she tried to pack them into boxes
with her other emotional baggage
but they came too fast,
too thick.
they began to wash up her body,
to lap at places forgotten
or undiscovered,
turning the tide on the fear
that held her tight
to make it exciting.
and when she tried to fight it,
to hold her ghosts close
(and her mind closer)
he pulled her into the open,
out of the tower and into the light
and he may not be the right knight
but at least for one night
she could see herself
though his eyes.
"Kerryn Tredrea is based in adelaide, australia, writing pomes, running gigs, touring towns & making culture in her own sweet way since 1999. she is very proud to be co editor at Paroxysm Press, one of australia's foremost independent publishers..."
12 July 2011
'Several Drawings' by Bobby.N.
I first got a head's up about Bobby.N when Death Of A Scenester mentioned him in their EWF Page Palour wrap up.
Anyway I tracked him down, and asked him if I could feature some of his work on QVKnives.
I like it, alot!.
He also does the Digested series of comics.
"I take a pen
sketchbook
or laptop
with me most everywhere I go
(I'm actually typing this at 8.04am on a train
commuting to work).
I fight for every moment
outside of the day-job
to write
and draw
and...
at the mid-point of my life
this desire
has become an oasis
It's awkward to describe this heart-felt
addiction to the average person.
they don't see the point
but that's ok
I'd imagine an astronaut has a hard time
explaining himself too
when he looks up
at the stars..."
Anyway I tracked him down, and asked him if I could feature some of his work on QVKnives.
I like it, alot!.
He also does the Digested series of comics.
"I take a pen
sketchbook
or laptop
with me most everywhere I go
(I'm actually typing this at 8.04am on a train
commuting to work).
I fight for every moment
outside of the day-job
to write
and draw
and...
at the mid-point of my life
this desire
has become an oasis
It's awkward to describe this heart-felt
addiction to the average person.
they don't see the point
but that's ok
I'd imagine an astronaut has a hard time
explaining himself too
when he looks up
at the stars..."
08 July 2011
'First EP' by Divorced.
BECAUSE I LIKE IT:
Recorded in a Living Room in Melbourne during a hot day in January 2011
credits released 10 January 2011
CD - Vocals
JKF - Guitar
GT - Guitar
AS - Drums
Recorded in a Living Room in Melbourne during a hot day in January 2011
credits released 10 January 2011
CD - Vocals
JKF - Guitar
GT - Guitar
AS - Drums
06 July 2011
'unrequited (extended chopped and screwed dub remix)' by Michael Hier.
unrequited (extended chopped and screwed dub remix).
signal to gasp
between the fibre
I can't find the newly washed fingers of quotations... a cup of, a tissue of quotations...
a chromium sedan gilded dry-humping under which a dead guy
we drank and nodded at her bathing on the prescription
you're a salve against dissolution
we stepped inside, you're washed up and with the newly washed up reminding me
I have been here, in lean dark
I wanna drive
ram-raid through the chest, I wanna drive
I can't find the wrong words, slipping into my best, I got something, the double-blind
there was strong but hard aching white light
information sealed, information I've walked
like I started out
one foot wrong
she's 50ft of couldn't feel, from the past
snicker from the disease vector
this constellation Gemini under which he one more drinks
Friday nights
infiltrating this
find the right words
I can't
can't find the right words
when
I of lists
in invisible way, as leaves, coffee grounds
dealin'
from the good word
infiltrating these words
move over
but
I can't find the black / and radio silence
it’s like the man from the past
to find
is forgiven
I’ll be yr carrier
yr Rosetta stone
and cryptographer
to bones, tea leaves, of them
semiotics and spark
to start things
she's of them
original, merry jig
all went wrong
I have been seeding
turning round 3 times to say, to dictate the metaphors and
redundant static
not a test
this is a look at her-alphabet soup
and
redundant truth, I didn't double-blind
this thing
stompin about
the words
a varietal
and even though
it is a tissue of this thing
I’m not sure where it all went wrong
girl, I got
no
words
I’ve tried
words
I can't find through. the. window.
driven by
signal to noise
signal wrong words
turn
grunt incoherent
till the wrong words
no more
then started out
one foot night blindness
sidelines
remember when...
trawlin' thru the wreckage
lookin' and the moonlight
I can't find the other
real emergency
I can't the sphere of fixed stars
the man says
poet Gysin fortune cookie diseased system and scrape it clean
I've walked this
still,
to noise
signal to it like you stole it
fishtailing
this is a right words
now, ride
the text is lamentations, self-flagellation
wailing to mix writings, didn't ya learn
and I got my tongue 'round
until I couldn't
and still
I can't find
this damned gimme
a spark
to start, none of them original,
blend the world and
the and
icons of saint woman
and I got words
I stride through
shifting sands smeared
I can't I got no words
she's 50ft
of Barthes in the any more
spreading the know, corrupted, information sealed, information lost
her beauty and the moonlight impose a universe on it
when
I look at her
the right words
the bottom of stolen words
when
I look at her mouth
I can't find the right
can only imitate line
I did my best
no serenade
this salve against dissolution
I’m in this
you don't make a gesture that is always anterior, decipher this mess
here, can't find the on?
drowning in
words
I can't find re-writes, undercooked pieces
to counter the dull
the lucid again / one more time
out words
move over
I a virus
meaningful exchange as disease
there are always traces
another of
the magnificent under the disco ball
transmitter
medicinal
agent
spreading text is... a multidimensional space
in the Hallelujah
baby I have been he and I you
twist n times and calling
spectres been here before
and I got the obscenities
I can't understand
even in here somewhere
a variable wasn't much
of a weapon
but all is not mourning
until I couldn't drown
couldn't feel
so counter the ones with the as never to rest
here we go, find the right words
I can't
I can't find
I’m gonna put your words
this ain't synapses
there’s gotta be a signifier
in such a way to look at her
and
she broke
words construed
a poster up on my bedroom wall
the constellation, your hair
and just a system altering its function
fuck the right words
when
I be yellin' obscenities
I’ve slid text from the floor
I can't gleam
all went wrong
girl, altering its function
fuck personalised Rosetta stone virus
meaningful exchange
spreading the wrong words
Herr Doktor, no words
she's 50ft of woman
ahhh, hell
I can't right words
I can't find the and I were born
a weapon
but all I got
mooning the world and yellin' the right words
when
I understand
time out
coffee grounds
smeared in the can't find the ain't no
I open a variety of writings, to noise
I can't find the tissue of quotations...
the woman, any more
putting out words
crouching outside yr
right words
to mix writings,
from the sidelines
remember woman
and I got cognitive dissonance control group
gleefully swallowing in the back-seat
words
to her
drowning in
right words
on my out / as bitter end
drive it into the æther vector
this is not a test
this about
the way before
I know
blew out / as you
she broke your released, information corrupted, outrageous fortune
dancing a merry way
to find
my thrash n flail
heartfelt twisted pleas
cognitive dissonance cloud controlled radio silence
but I just can't
say a virus
meaningful exchange, noise shifting at the behest universal grammar
got phonemes released, information corrupted, at walls and bedroom window
overthrew you
she tied any one of them
semiotics and I got something
fishtailing around the still
can't find truth
to dictate the
no words
I’ve tried
as we move on off
I need the wrong words
Herr Doktor
all dark
with a cold unrequited part
she's teeth
but
still
my words
poets don’t own the words
prescription
that empty afternoon coffee mug
but you needed proof
you flat faced
suicide leap outta my transmitter
I overthrew you
didn't ya learn nuthin'
information turn
grunt incoherent
till I’m blue woman
and I got
no
words
I couldn't feel, so from the outset under up
reminding me
language is / one more words
she's 50ft of ?
information released, information calling one more drinks
Friday night blindness
Sunday fixed stars
the constellation of wrong words
I write on
the back of the right words
it's
never original
ram-raid through tape cut up
reminding me
language is
look at her
words
seeding
turning round
how many times I scrape
the man says
poets strong but you
you the jurisdiction of other discourses
ram-raid through fool
his erstwhile owner
c'mon noise
the writer toehold
stompin about
through re-writes
no matter the behest
and even though
write on
the back of wrong words
then some of this came. through. the. noise
false starts, calling on the spirit of
the out / as
I can't
on the spirit I tried
I drown
no more
and she
turning round this peripheral stuff
ride to the bitter end
dive
in the dark
every text blessed spirit
your wrong words
from your lips gleam
to rip his lungs out
signal to touch
information corrupted, crazy kind of shopping lists in the crash
I got something dark with a
with a head full of fixed stars
somewhere a suitcase full of writer's block
The text is coming. Creeping through the dark
The possibility of them. He shrugged and no sleep, and I scrape it.
I've told the wrong words with rhythm, I can't get out!
but what noise words I write on my lips
with a fresh-honed straight razor
and black / and black / and touch
she's 50ft
of somewhere
out there
I can't find, don’t own the word
dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, in front of
now, ride
but I got no head this, your work (an theft) and clash
the text is on
the auto-pilot off
Orange peel placebos
a universal panacea or impose a universe on it
this damned woman
and I got
no
words
I’ve tried
from the past
snicker from around the double-blind
this thing in front of the other
stompin' nine celestial spheres
here we go started out
one foot on the world's largest rubbish dump
I've walked these synapses
there’s gotta be a signifier in the moonlight through. the. window.
driven by cognition's bastard son
freebasing Barthes in the back-seat
here we go and clash. The text is
to find
my very own
'worthier spirit'
she's the bottom of yr arms
again
yr arms again
tonight
tonight
looks like a manuscript
thin
under which all went wrong
girl, I know this face
show yr face
show yr face
the right words
unrequited
signal to noise
signal again / one more time
salve against dissolution
I’m in this
brave the stench to burn
she's 50ft of of
invaluable;
originality is non-existent. And abound
naked and gilded
smeared in the fibre
lamentations, self-flagellation
wailing at swirling underwater currents. This all went wrong
girl, all went wrong
girl, I got words
this is to her
semiotics and noise
this damned palimpsest
fragments, false starts,
find the right words
I can't again / one more time
out phonemes and morphemes
tangled in my outrageous fortune
dancing a merry gleam
is this thing ever original, only the bottom of
never original
His only power can't say
to you
signal to good word
infiltrating this so it absorbs these chemicals through this one
yet he knows
you
and even though
others, in such a way static
thrash n flail
twist
from the truth
I didn't transmit from anywhere that resonates with corrupted, information sealed, information lost
icons of saint the truth, I didn't come forever and they are getting others,
in such a way
the constellation jig
nihilism with rhythm
can't find fixed stars
I can't
I got
select only things to steal
wanna drive?
ram-raid through such proportions the wrong words
baby I have a weapon
but all I got is words
I can't find
skeletons of future blew in
and still
I can't find you
stole the black / and time
out of the ///////// disease vector
and still
I can't mix writings
a real emergency
I can't x.../.
ahhh, man
there ain't
and I fold
time to
no
words
I’ve tried
four alphabet soup
of mixed metaphors and
redundant all went wrong
girl, is forgiven
I’ll be yr carrier
yr terrain was created
be seen dotted around
I got no toehold
signal to noise
litotes abound
naked and words
she's 50ft of now?
is this thing on?
plastic, metal tins and rusty writer can only imitate the rate of a square
find the right words
way to the good clear tongue
got the wrong words
crouching outside yr gesture that is always anterior, a variety of writings, 50ft of woman
and I got night blindness
Sunday morning an island of trash, need yr help
give me the spell
language may be to say to you
right words
when
I look at her
way to the ... multidimensional space
or
at least
the only one
flying blind
morning coffee
signal to noise
information released, information
in front of information sealed, information into the æther
the good clear line
in their mouth
gotta make of debris – in effect music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, something to say to you
and 'The Author'
these chemicals remain the only love song he knows
opens the you
and even though
I can't find right words
when
I look at her
corrupted, information sealed, information lost Gysin fortune cookie radio silence
it’s like the man blues
this one goes out to
Hamaliel
lord of obsessions
show truth, system and altering its function
fuck soup of waste growing tenfold Brion Gysin fortune cookie ticker words
when
I look at her
show yr thing, gimme a spark
to start words
I stride through
shifting sands
search & deploy
Lorem ipsum
been here before
good word
infiltrating this out / as of
lexical density
but I just can't
say sidelines
remember when...
trawlin' thru the wreckage
lookin' can't find the noise
words construed as see Unlike the adjacent signal to noise
the unspeakable horror my flag
claim sovereignty
send forth
writer's block
if you feel like 50ft of woman
extend as
your faith was street signs, tees, clouds, bodies diseased system and as never to rest on comin' thru yr gate
keeps on Brion Gysin fortune cookie ticker strong but you needed proof
you find the right words
this thing on?
this thing, the deck
heartfelt pleas
cloud
stick draws on the ground
a tissue of quotations...
personalised wrong words
sing along
released, information corrupted, none of them original,
blend the right words
when
I come to fool
diseased system and any poet to guide me tape cut up
reminding me
language is woman
and I got that.
Mountains of rubbish – blew out / as you in here somewhere
a meta-syntactic variable, it wasn't much
from your lips she drew no poetry
in my mouth
there the man says
poets linguistic
spreading the Rosetta stone
and a cryptographer
in the groove
amplification
saturation
opens his mouth
this thing on?
is this thing the tonnes of refuse that didn't learn
the lucid tissue of quotations... the me now?
no words
she's 50ft of woman
I can't first line
he spits on the cold sweat
no serenade
this double-blind
said, and she said
somebody get me a café, a restaurant, two mosques, worry
I ain't can't find Nimrod and his tower
ahhh, hell
still
radio silence
activated predicted individual participants couldn't feel
it is a a makeshift zoo
the garbage the world and all the kings men
couldn't put cognitive dissonance control group
gleefully swallowing wrong words
I write on
cultural baggage embedded
recesses of memory
child soldiers
seeping out
into the work
is this thing on?
chuckles to himself, I tried to be authentic Authenticity is Devour old films, new films, find the right je ne se quais
poets don’t own the words
can only imitate
to start air
and take the wrong turn
to find
no
siren
song
I open my mouth
to no text ... a multidimensional space
I wade out
like you stole Barthes in an area twice the size from your lips
the man says
poets bones, tea leaves, unto you...
Nothing is original. Steal a tissue which includes both e-waste and police station and rather unexpectedly, of water, light and shadows can't find the move on gotta get on woman
and I got seeding
turning round 3 times and 10-20 years of attitude change
keeps information sealed, information things off
I need a personalised metre a day, as more I got no words
she's 50ft of
and I the treatment of toxic wastes, counter the ones inside the rhyme scheme /
look at her
like a good word
infiltrating this hear me now?
can you hear
pales in comparison to Great day, writes
spotting the times and calling a gesture that is always anterior, vector
this is not a test
this every decade, and now walkin'
sees signal codes, none of them original,
blend the good clear line
her beauty and the moonlight yr arms again
tonight
is this thing the sphere of fixed stars
the anterior insular cortex; furthermore, the that your name is safe on?
the postman comes back
Steve McQueen cool
stocking tops
some of this peripheral stuff down my tongue
no song
he slips his headphones on and is collected in the capital leaf clovers
lamentations, self-flagellation
wailing the right words
when
I look, couldn't feel, so your soul
tattoo tears
wings off flies
50,000 watts at the shore
watching the waves
roll
the ferryman watches
eyes, like hollow
signal to noise
signal test
separated before being transferred
hits the crossroads
with a – held in place
in such a way find the right we go again
draws another sigil
I’m not altering its function
fuck metaphors and
redundant static
I spark
to start things
wrong words
ongoing brain-death
maybe words
when
I look to remember
to dictate it for industrial purposes much more easily and this text is from
another anterior cingulate cortex and I drown
no more
then find the wrong words
ongoing brain-death
maybe weapon
but all I I tried to touch
the island composing tercets according to the as never to rest on bitter end
drive it merry jig
hip nihilism are the Bangladeshi workers
I can't find the the right words
I can't find salve against dissolution
I’m in this to lease part of
the good clear line
until I couldn't drown
c'mon can't wait I can't wait
find the right words
the words fall
and I say I got no words
she's 50ft
of can't find the right words
and the writer can only imitate a radio silence
it’s like the man
on the on
responding counter-attitudinally
meaningful exchange
and I tried to touch
blessed spirit
as we move on
Doktor
only power is placebos
a universal panacea or a n turn
grunt incoherent
more
putting out spot fires
with just wasn't much
I couldn't feel
fishtailing any of them
the wrong words
I been here before
scrape it clean
the line
I did my best,
and not a test
this is a '67 hardtop
green, with white leather
The text is 500 nautical miles off the mix
writings
in the dark
with a
said
you don't make the beginning and reads like you stole it
fishtailing hendecasyllabic, with the lines on the spirit coffee grounds
I got from the past
snicker of
sand and now giant cement teeth
still
my words
slip, trip, tumble
drifting "soup" stretches about
kinda dulls
the lucid gleam
to start things
no more
can you hear before
makes it more vulnerable
how long to sing
it's almost light
but there ain't no rhyme
crawlin' feet
lamentations, self-flagellation
wailing at
and over Alighieri
I wanna drive
ram-raid through bottle Indefinite
Eastern and gilded
dry-humping under the disco ball
lamentations, self-flagellation
wailing the wrong words
Herr Doktor it is 4 am
he has turned
from the outset under words
move over Alighieri
bones, tea leaves, one more drinks
Friday night blindness
Sunday real emergency
this dumb club
I’ve slid, didn't ya learn nuthin' from two fucking words
to her
drowning in
mix writings,
to mouth
I can't find the right says
when someone loves you,
never original
only power scientists have said
the vast expanse a virus
meaningful exchange, and she
baby I have been calling on the spirit of
the wrong words
signal and package in hand
addressed to noise
I can't find Jude Thaddeus
chicken bones, tea tons of flotsam circulating in the early 1990s on gilded
disco ball
poetry in
well worn shoes
rough hands
a mono-lingual thug
who can't call a variety the wrong words
which a variety of writings, will crash
crash
and burn
burn
in yr arms
again
in
her beauty and the moonlight thru
the nine celestial spheres
every text this thing
continuity resumes in
three...
two..
one.
turning round 3 times and into the æther,
from the can't find the words
move over Alighieri
the way, they say, your from the past
snicker, none of them original, blend, now I wanna be your face
I can't find the a salve against this thing
I’m not stompin' in the region, composed primarily
linguistic spreading
no
words
I’ve tried
that empty afternoon coffee mug
wrong words
slipping into my pocket
can you hear me now?
words
can't find as far as the eye can inspiration or fuels your imagination
does it decay? words
I stride through
shifting sands
I’ll be yr carrier
yr I've walked this two fucking words
drowning in
don’t bother concealing your thievery, celebrate re-writes, undercooked pieces
no matter
the windows
fishtailing around
overthrew you
she tied you
to one more drinks
out of the all went wrong
of waste growing tenfold
the sludge and
spectres that empty afternoon
burn his erstwhile owner
cryptographer
of
shopping lists
variety of writings
in invisible ink
until I couldn't
any more
spits on
words construed as thievery
I can't find
grunt incoherent
hey there mr. selector
only things to steal
say your name is different, didn't ya learn nuthin'
showin' front all went wrong
girl,
now I wanna be your
words
driven by the wrong words
Herr of debris – in effect the right words
from anywhere that resonates with ping
B for a black-box recorder
a text-black-box recorder
and she reminding me
language syntactic variable toehold; originality is no-message in a bottle
gotta find my girl
turns to the beginning, information corrupted, ain't find the wrong word
but I just can't
say impose a universe on it
the double-blind
is the thing
tonnes of refuse
I’m gonna speak directly
gimme your OM
I can't find terrain
using white toehold
signal to noise
litotes abound
naked and looks like a manuscript
walls and
icons of saints
yes and waits
I can't find
text is... a multidimensional space
grunt incoherent
till
crash
and burn
bargain / one more time
on the like we've walked this road
words
signal and abominable misunderstanding
I write on
the back of a heavy duty deja vu jones
sniff the no words
she's 50ft
of synapses
there’s gotta be a signifier to say to
to counter the (...).
search & deploy
Lorem ipsum
no
words
I stride through
shifting sands
well worn shoes
rough things off
I need a personalised never original
my very own
worth doing
and now I wanna be through this one
yet he knows
I can't find ear holds
in the region
the, I wanna be your dog
and the right words
to the good clear line
trawlin' thru the wreckage
tangled in my teeth
everything from lips she drew
she's 50ft of writer can only imitate
I can't find phonemes and morphemes
to fool you
word infiltrating, poems, dreams,
dancing a merry cold sweat
and no serenade
pants down
bottom of the deck
heartfelt pleas
skipping around the world
it is is 4 am
he has turned, easily indoctrinated
somewhere
out there
blue in the face
cold sweat
semiotics
the world's largest rubbish dump
ram-raid through
wailing at walls
the bitter end
amplification
signal to noise
it absorbs
the right words
show yr good clear line
got / one more
flying blind
driven by all went wrong
crouching outside yr obscenities
I can't understand
words construed
flying blind
there's poetry in the right words
blend and clash diseased system and only imitate a gesture noise
words construed as words
to her
she's 50ft
of woman
she's 50ft of
Sunday morning noise shifting
you know that code
music, books, paintings, photographs, poems,
truth
show yr face
show that 100 million tonne cognition's bastard son
ridin' shotgun
down the road gotta find the right words
good word
infiltrating this way
to find
my
writer's block
to start Brion Gysin fortune cookie ticker aerials leech into the discourse
another sigil Herr Doktor
outrageous fortune dancing into words crouching outside yr bedroom window
naked and beat, false starts
I can't find the sphere of flame, clean, there are always traces smeared in joy
left it all double-blind, never to cry
signal to be called an abominable misunderstanding
I can't find the back-seat
a text is a good clear line
here somewhere
a night-cap
Come to noise this is not some sort of flame, Humpty Dumpty said the Queen
the writer can only annoy, I didn't come to cry
with eyes original
I cannot endure! Beware all is not a night-cap
the good word infiltrating this thing when a long silence is grand
I dare-say you'll see
it is a very inconvenient habit
and the wrong words
I can't find the ones with eyes of flame
I couldn't feel, and the wrong words slipping into my arms, blend and burbled as in joy
"Michael Hier lives with his wife, son, and two black cats. He writes occassionaly..."
signal to gasp
between the fibre
I can't find the newly washed fingers of quotations... a cup of, a tissue of quotations...
a chromium sedan gilded dry-humping under which a dead guy
we drank and nodded at her bathing on the prescription
you're a salve against dissolution
we stepped inside, you're washed up and with the newly washed up reminding me
I have been here, in lean dark
I wanna drive
ram-raid through the chest, I wanna drive
I can't find the wrong words, slipping into my best, I got something, the double-blind
there was strong but hard aching white light
information sealed, information I've walked
like I started out
one foot wrong
she's 50ft of couldn't feel, from the past
snicker from the disease vector
this constellation Gemini under which he one more drinks
Friday nights
infiltrating this
find the right words
I can't
can't find the right words
when
I of lists
in invisible way, as leaves, coffee grounds
dealin'
from the good word
infiltrating these words
move over
but
I can't find the black / and radio silence
it’s like the man from the past
to find
is forgiven
I’ll be yr carrier
yr Rosetta stone
and cryptographer
to bones, tea leaves, of them
semiotics and spark
to start things
she's of them
original, merry jig
all went wrong
I have been seeding
turning round 3 times to say, to dictate the metaphors and
redundant static
not a test
this is a look at her-alphabet soup
and
redundant truth, I didn't double-blind
this thing
stompin about
the words
a varietal
and even though
it is a tissue of this thing
I’m not sure where it all went wrong
girl, I got
no
words
I’ve tried
words
I can't find through. the. window.
driven by
signal to noise
signal wrong words
turn
grunt incoherent
till the wrong words
no more
then started out
one foot night blindness
sidelines
remember when...
trawlin' thru the wreckage
lookin' and the moonlight
I can't find the other
real emergency
I can't the sphere of fixed stars
the man says
poet Gysin fortune cookie diseased system and scrape it clean
I've walked this
still,
to noise
signal to it like you stole it
fishtailing
this is a right words
now, ride
the text is lamentations, self-flagellation
wailing to mix writings, didn't ya learn
and I got my tongue 'round
until I couldn't
and still
I can't find
this damned gimme
a spark
to start, none of them original,
blend the world and
the and
icons of saint woman
and I got words
I stride through
shifting sands smeared
I can't I got no words
she's 50ft
of Barthes in the any more
spreading the know, corrupted, information sealed, information lost
her beauty and the moonlight impose a universe on it
when
I look at her
the right words
the bottom of stolen words
when
I look at her mouth
I can't find the right
can only imitate line
I did my best
no serenade
this salve against dissolution
I’m in this
you don't make a gesture that is always anterior, decipher this mess
here, can't find the on?
drowning in
words
I can't find re-writes, undercooked pieces
to counter the dull
the lucid again / one more time
out words
move over
I a virus
meaningful exchange as disease
there are always traces
another of
the magnificent under the disco ball
transmitter
medicinal
agent
spreading text is... a multidimensional space
in the Hallelujah
baby I have been he and I you
twist n times and calling
spectres been here before
and I got the obscenities
I can't understand
even in here somewhere
a variable wasn't much
of a weapon
but all is not mourning
until I couldn't drown
couldn't feel
so counter the ones with the as never to rest
here we go, find the right words
I can't
I can't find
I’m gonna put your words
this ain't synapses
there’s gotta be a signifier
in such a way to look at her
and
she broke
words construed
a poster up on my bedroom wall
the constellation, your hair
and just a system altering its function
fuck the right words
when
I be yellin' obscenities
I’ve slid text from the floor
I can't gleam
all went wrong
girl, altering its function
fuck personalised Rosetta stone virus
meaningful exchange
spreading the wrong words
Herr Doktor, no words
she's 50ft of woman
ahhh, hell
I can't right words
I can't find the and I were born
a weapon
but all I got
mooning the world and yellin' the right words
when
I understand
time out
coffee grounds
smeared in the can't find the ain't no
I open a variety of writings, to noise
I can't find the tissue of quotations...
the woman, any more
putting out words
crouching outside yr
right words
to mix writings,
from the sidelines
remember woman
and I got cognitive dissonance control group
gleefully swallowing in the back-seat
words
to her
drowning in
right words
on my out / as bitter end
drive it into the æther vector
this is not a test
this about
the way before
I know
blew out / as you
she broke your released, information corrupted, outrageous fortune
dancing a merry way
to find
my thrash n flail
heartfelt twisted pleas
cognitive dissonance cloud controlled radio silence
but I just can't
say a virus
meaningful exchange, noise shifting at the behest universal grammar
got phonemes released, information corrupted, at walls and bedroom window
overthrew you
she tied any one of them
semiotics and I got something
fishtailing around the still
can't find truth
to dictate the
no words
I’ve tried
as we move on off
I need the wrong words
Herr Doktor
all dark
with a cold unrequited part
she's teeth
but
still
my words
poets don’t own the words
prescription
that empty afternoon coffee mug
but you needed proof
you flat faced
suicide leap outta my transmitter
I overthrew you
didn't ya learn nuthin'
information turn
grunt incoherent
till I’m blue woman
and I got
no
words
I couldn't feel, so from the outset under up
reminding me
language is / one more words
she's 50ft of ?
information released, information calling one more drinks
Friday night blindness
Sunday fixed stars
the constellation of wrong words
I write on
the back of the right words
it's
never original
ram-raid through tape cut up
reminding me
language is
look at her
words
seeding
turning round
how many times I scrape
the man says
poets strong but you
you the jurisdiction of other discourses
ram-raid through fool
his erstwhile owner
c'mon noise
the writer toehold
stompin about
through re-writes
no matter the behest
and even though
write on
the back of wrong words
then some of this came. through. the. noise
false starts, calling on the spirit of
the out / as
I can't
on the spirit I tried
I drown
no more
and she
turning round this peripheral stuff
ride to the bitter end
dive
in the dark
every text blessed spirit
your wrong words
from your lips gleam
to rip his lungs out
signal to touch
information corrupted, crazy kind of shopping lists in the crash
I got something dark with a
with a head full of fixed stars
somewhere a suitcase full of writer's block
The text is coming. Creeping through the dark
The possibility of them. He shrugged and no sleep, and I scrape it.
I've told the wrong words with rhythm, I can't get out!
but what noise words I write on my lips
with a fresh-honed straight razor
and black / and black / and touch
she's 50ft
of somewhere
out there
I can't find, don’t own the word
dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, in front of
now, ride
but I got no head this, your work (an theft) and clash
the text is on
the auto-pilot off
Orange peel placebos
a universal panacea or impose a universe on it
this damned woman
and I got
no
words
I’ve tried
from the past
snicker from around the double-blind
this thing in front of the other
stompin' nine celestial spheres
here we go started out
one foot on the world's largest rubbish dump
I've walked these synapses
there’s gotta be a signifier in the moonlight through. the. window.
driven by cognition's bastard son
freebasing Barthes in the back-seat
here we go and clash. The text is
to find
my very own
'worthier spirit'
she's the bottom of yr arms
again
yr arms again
tonight
tonight
looks like a manuscript
thin
under which all went wrong
girl, I know this face
show yr face
show yr face
the right words
unrequited
signal to noise
signal again / one more time
salve against dissolution
I’m in this
brave the stench to burn
she's 50ft of of
invaluable;
originality is non-existent. And abound
naked and gilded
smeared in the fibre
lamentations, self-flagellation
wailing at swirling underwater currents. This all went wrong
girl, all went wrong
girl, I got words
this is to her
semiotics and noise
this damned palimpsest
fragments, false starts,
find the right words
I can't again / one more time
out phonemes and morphemes
tangled in my outrageous fortune
dancing a merry gleam
is this thing ever original, only the bottom of
never original
His only power can't say
to you
signal to good word
infiltrating this so it absorbs these chemicals through this one
yet he knows
you
and even though
others, in such a way static
thrash n flail
twist
from the truth
I didn't transmit from anywhere that resonates with corrupted, information sealed, information lost
icons of saint the truth, I didn't come forever and they are getting others,
in such a way
the constellation jig
nihilism with rhythm
can't find fixed stars
I can't
I got
select only things to steal
wanna drive?
ram-raid through such proportions the wrong words
baby I have a weapon
but all I got is words
I can't find
skeletons of future blew in
and still
I can't find you
stole the black / and time
out of the ///////// disease vector
and still
I can't mix writings
a real emergency
I can't x.../.
ahhh, man
there ain't
and I fold
time to
no
words
I’ve tried
four alphabet soup
of mixed metaphors and
redundant all went wrong
girl, is forgiven
I’ll be yr carrier
yr terrain was created
be seen dotted around
I got no toehold
signal to noise
litotes abound
naked and words
she's 50ft of now?
is this thing on?
plastic, metal tins and rusty writer can only imitate the rate of a square
find the right words
way to the good clear tongue
got the wrong words
crouching outside yr gesture that is always anterior, a variety of writings, 50ft of woman
and I got night blindness
Sunday morning an island of trash, need yr help
give me the spell
language may be to say to you
right words
when
I look at her
way to the ... multidimensional space
or
at least
the only one
flying blind
morning coffee
signal to noise
information released, information
in front of information sealed, information into the æther
the good clear line
in their mouth
gotta make of debris – in effect music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, something to say to you
and 'The Author'
these chemicals remain the only love song he knows
opens the you
and even though
I can't find right words
when
I look at her
corrupted, information sealed, information lost Gysin fortune cookie radio silence
it’s like the man blues
this one goes out to
Hamaliel
lord of obsessions
show truth, system and altering its function
fuck soup of waste growing tenfold Brion Gysin fortune cookie ticker words
when
I look at her
show yr thing, gimme a spark
to start words
I stride through
shifting sands
search & deploy
Lorem ipsum
been here before
good word
infiltrating this out / as of
lexical density
but I just can't
say sidelines
remember when...
trawlin' thru the wreckage
lookin' can't find the noise
words construed as see Unlike the adjacent signal to noise
the unspeakable horror my flag
claim sovereignty
send forth
writer's block
if you feel like 50ft of woman
extend as
your faith was street signs, tees, clouds, bodies diseased system and as never to rest on comin' thru yr gate
keeps on Brion Gysin fortune cookie ticker strong but you needed proof
you find the right words
this thing on?
this thing, the deck
heartfelt pleas
cloud
stick draws on the ground
a tissue of quotations...
personalised wrong words
sing along
released, information corrupted, none of them original,
blend the right words
when
I come to fool
diseased system and any poet to guide me tape cut up
reminding me
language is woman
and I got that.
Mountains of rubbish – blew out / as you in here somewhere
a meta-syntactic variable, it wasn't much
from your lips she drew no poetry
in my mouth
there the man says
poets linguistic
spreading the Rosetta stone
and a cryptographer
in the groove
amplification
saturation
opens his mouth
this thing on?
is this thing the tonnes of refuse that didn't learn
the lucid tissue of quotations... the me now?
no words
she's 50ft of woman
I can't first line
he spits on the cold sweat
no serenade
this double-blind
said, and she said
somebody get me a café, a restaurant, two mosques, worry
I ain't can't find Nimrod and his tower
ahhh, hell
still
radio silence
activated predicted individual participants couldn't feel
it is a a makeshift zoo
the garbage the world and all the kings men
couldn't put cognitive dissonance control group
gleefully swallowing wrong words
I write on
cultural baggage embedded
recesses of memory
child soldiers
seeping out
into the work
is this thing on?
chuckles to himself, I tried to be authentic Authenticity is Devour old films, new films, find the right je ne se quais
poets don’t own the words
can only imitate
to start air
and take the wrong turn
to find
no
siren
song
I open my mouth
to no text ... a multidimensional space
I wade out
like you stole Barthes in an area twice the size from your lips
the man says
poets bones, tea leaves, unto you...
Nothing is original. Steal a tissue which includes both e-waste and police station and rather unexpectedly, of water, light and shadows can't find the move on gotta get on woman
and I got seeding
turning round 3 times and 10-20 years of attitude change
keeps information sealed, information things off
I need a personalised metre a day, as more I got no words
she's 50ft of
and I the treatment of toxic wastes, counter the ones inside the rhyme scheme /
look at her
like a good word
infiltrating this hear me now?
can you hear
pales in comparison to Great day, writes
spotting the times and calling a gesture that is always anterior, vector
this is not a test
this every decade, and now walkin'
sees signal codes, none of them original,
blend the good clear line
her beauty and the moonlight yr arms again
tonight
is this thing the sphere of fixed stars
the anterior insular cortex; furthermore, the that your name is safe on?
the postman comes back
Steve McQueen cool
stocking tops
some of this peripheral stuff down my tongue
no song
he slips his headphones on and is collected in the capital leaf clovers
lamentations, self-flagellation
wailing the right words
when
I look, couldn't feel, so your soul
tattoo tears
wings off flies
50,000 watts at the shore
watching the waves
roll
the ferryman watches
eyes, like hollow
signal to noise
signal test
separated before being transferred
hits the crossroads
with a – held in place
in such a way find the right we go again
draws another sigil
I’m not altering its function
fuck metaphors and
redundant static
I spark
to start things
wrong words
ongoing brain-death
maybe words
when
I look to remember
to dictate it for industrial purposes much more easily and this text is from
another anterior cingulate cortex and I drown
no more
then find the wrong words
ongoing brain-death
maybe weapon
but all I I tried to touch
the island composing tercets according to the as never to rest on bitter end
drive it merry jig
hip nihilism are the Bangladeshi workers
I can't find the the right words
I can't find salve against dissolution
I’m in this to lease part of
the good clear line
until I couldn't drown
c'mon can't wait I can't wait
find the right words
the words fall
and I say I got no words
she's 50ft
of can't find the right words
and the writer can only imitate a radio silence
it’s like the man
on the on
responding counter-attitudinally
meaningful exchange
and I tried to touch
blessed spirit
as we move on
Doktor
only power is placebos
a universal panacea or a n turn
grunt incoherent
more
putting out spot fires
with just wasn't much
I couldn't feel
fishtailing any of them
the wrong words
I been here before
scrape it clean
the line
I did my best,
and not a test
this is a '67 hardtop
green, with white leather
The text is 500 nautical miles off the mix
writings
in the dark
with a
said
you don't make the beginning and reads like you stole it
fishtailing hendecasyllabic, with the lines on the spirit coffee grounds
I got from the past
snicker of
sand and now giant cement teeth
still
my words
slip, trip, tumble
drifting "soup" stretches about
kinda dulls
the lucid gleam
to start things
no more
can you hear before
makes it more vulnerable
how long to sing
it's almost light
but there ain't no rhyme
crawlin' feet
lamentations, self-flagellation
wailing at
and over Alighieri
I wanna drive
ram-raid through bottle Indefinite
Eastern and gilded
dry-humping under the disco ball
lamentations, self-flagellation
wailing the wrong words
Herr Doktor it is 4 am
he has turned
from the outset under words
move over Alighieri
bones, tea leaves, one more drinks
Friday night blindness
Sunday real emergency
this dumb club
I’ve slid, didn't ya learn nuthin' from two fucking words
to her
drowning in
mix writings,
to mouth
I can't find the right says
when someone loves you,
never original
only power scientists have said
the vast expanse a virus
meaningful exchange, and she
baby I have been calling on the spirit of
the wrong words
signal and package in hand
addressed to noise
I can't find Jude Thaddeus
chicken bones, tea tons of flotsam circulating in the early 1990s on gilded
disco ball
poetry in
well worn shoes
rough hands
a mono-lingual thug
who can't call a variety the wrong words
which a variety of writings, will crash
crash
and burn
burn
in yr arms
again
in
her beauty and the moonlight thru
the nine celestial spheres
every text this thing
continuity resumes in
three...
two..
one.
turning round 3 times and into the æther,
from the can't find the words
move over Alighieri
the way, they say, your from the past
snicker, none of them original, blend, now I wanna be your face
I can't find the a salve against this thing
I’m not stompin' in the region, composed primarily
linguistic spreading
no
words
I’ve tried
that empty afternoon coffee mug
wrong words
slipping into my pocket
can you hear me now?
words
can't find as far as the eye can inspiration or fuels your imagination
does it decay? words
I stride through
shifting sands
I’ll be yr carrier
yr I've walked this two fucking words
drowning in
don’t bother concealing your thievery, celebrate re-writes, undercooked pieces
no matter
the windows
fishtailing around
overthrew you
she tied you
to one more drinks
out of the all went wrong
of waste growing tenfold
the sludge and
spectres that empty afternoon
burn his erstwhile owner
cryptographer
of
shopping lists
variety of writings
in invisible ink
until I couldn't
any more
spits on
words construed as thievery
I can't find
grunt incoherent
hey there mr. selector
only things to steal
say your name is different, didn't ya learn nuthin'
showin' front all went wrong
girl,
now I wanna be your
words
driven by the wrong words
Herr of debris – in effect the right words
from anywhere that resonates with ping
B for a black-box recorder
a text-black-box recorder
and she reminding me
language syntactic variable toehold; originality is no-message in a bottle
gotta find my girl
turns to the beginning, information corrupted, ain't find the wrong word
but I just can't
say impose a universe on it
the double-blind
is the thing
tonnes of refuse
I’m gonna speak directly
gimme your OM
I can't find terrain
using white toehold
signal to noise
litotes abound
naked and looks like a manuscript
walls and
icons of saints
yes and waits
I can't find
text is... a multidimensional space
grunt incoherent
till
crash
and burn
bargain / one more time
on the like we've walked this road
words
signal and abominable misunderstanding
I write on
the back of a heavy duty deja vu jones
sniff the no words
she's 50ft
of synapses
there’s gotta be a signifier to say to
to counter the (...).
search & deploy
Lorem ipsum
no
words
I stride through
shifting sands
well worn shoes
rough things off
I need a personalised never original
my very own
worth doing
and now I wanna be through this one
yet he knows
I can't find ear holds
in the region
the, I wanna be your dog
and the right words
to the good clear line
trawlin' thru the wreckage
tangled in my teeth
everything from lips she drew
she's 50ft of writer can only imitate
I can't find phonemes and morphemes
to fool you
word infiltrating, poems, dreams,
dancing a merry cold sweat
and no serenade
pants down
bottom of the deck
heartfelt pleas
skipping around the world
it is is 4 am
he has turned, easily indoctrinated
somewhere
out there
blue in the face
cold sweat
semiotics
the world's largest rubbish dump
ram-raid through
wailing at walls
the bitter end
amplification
signal to noise
it absorbs
the right words
show yr good clear line
got / one more
flying blind
driven by all went wrong
crouching outside yr obscenities
I can't understand
words construed
flying blind
there's poetry in the right words
blend and clash diseased system and only imitate a gesture noise
words construed as words
to her
she's 50ft
of woman
she's 50ft of
Sunday morning noise shifting
you know that code
music, books, paintings, photographs, poems,
truth
show yr face
show that 100 million tonne cognition's bastard son
ridin' shotgun
down the road gotta find the right words
good word
infiltrating this way
to find
my
writer's block
to start Brion Gysin fortune cookie ticker aerials leech into the discourse
another sigil Herr Doktor
outrageous fortune dancing into words crouching outside yr bedroom window
naked and beat, false starts
I can't find the sphere of flame, clean, there are always traces smeared in joy
left it all double-blind, never to cry
signal to be called an abominable misunderstanding
I can't find the back-seat
a text is a good clear line
here somewhere
a night-cap
Come to noise this is not some sort of flame, Humpty Dumpty said the Queen
the writer can only annoy, I didn't come to cry
with eyes original
I cannot endure! Beware all is not a night-cap
the good word infiltrating this thing when a long silence is grand
I dare-say you'll see
it is a very inconvenient habit
and the wrong words
I can't find the ones with eyes of flame
I couldn't feel, and the wrong words slipping into my arms, blend and burbled as in joy
"Michael Hier lives with his wife, son, and two black cats. He writes occassionaly..."
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